


Hand in the Pocket, Finger on the Steel

by azephirin



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Fast and the Furious (2001 2003 2006 2009)
Genre: Alliances, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Het Relationship, Canon Related, Cars, Conspiracy, Crossover, F/M, Grief, Kissing, Revenge, Slayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He finds what he's looking for, but he's not alone.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in the Pocket, Finger on the Steel

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** For _Fast &amp; Furious_, the movie, or approximately the first half of it, anyway. For _Buffy_, the comicsverse, very very vaguely.  
> **Disclaimer**: Neither Faith Lehane nor Dominic Toretto belong to me. Woe.  
> **Author's note:** Despite the fact that the characters' genitalia does not match, no one can convince me that this is not a slash pairing. Title from "[Exit](http://www.macphisto.net/u2lyrics/Exit.html)," by U2.

He loses himself in the crowd. He's too big, really, to be pushed along by the waves of bodies, but he lets it happen, lets the noise and the movement rock him until he's in the hallway—darker, quieter, girls kissing and giggling and usually he'd be into that like any halfway normal guy, but that isn't what he's looking for right now.

He finds what he's looking for, but he's not alone.

The woman turns around, and for a moment she reminds him so much of Letty that his heart clenches. It's not her, of course--it can't be. But the resemblance goes beyond the build and the dark hair; it's also the way she looks at him, steady, unsurprised, observant, evaluating.

She nods at him. "Toretto." The same low, almost husky voice. She's even dressed like Letty would: jeans that don't show off but don't hide, boots that mean business, a tank top revealing solid muscles in her shoulders and arms.

For a moment, he misses Letty so fiercely that it pushes the breath out of his lungs. But he recovers, and gives the woman a look of his own. "Yeah. Who are you?"

She runs her finger down the Torino's hood. "My name's Faith. You could say we share some interests."

"How do you figure?"

She opens her mouth to answer. Then she freezes and mouths, "Play along," and he's not even sure he sees her move before she's pressed up against him, hands on his hip and the nape of his neck like they just decided to come in here for a little private time.

A throat clears, delicately. It's Gisele.

Dom's discomfort is completely unfeigned.

Faith's throaty alto is replaced by giggles, and the direct gaze by downcast eyes and a blush. Diversion, disguise, or maybe both. Gisele looks at Dom and then at Faith, and then at Dom again. "I meant to ask what kind of woman is your type," she says, "but it appears I don't have to."

"Uh," Dom answers. It's maybe not the sharpest moment of his life.

"Excuse me for interrupting." Gisele turns to go, but then turns back. "_Vaya con dios_, Dom."

"Thanks" comes reflexively—as does the shudder when Faith draws a line with her fingernail down his back.

Gisele leaves silently, and Dom's about to pull away and ask this woman what in the hell she's doing, but Faith puts a finger over his lips—then removes it to lean up and kiss him.

There's no alcohol on her breath or in her mouth—whatever she's doing here, she hasn't been drinking. His hands find her hair of their own accord, and it's both a relief and a disappointment that it doesn't feel like Letty's; it's straighter, smoother, not as thick. Faith's kisses are ferocious, demanding, and he demands in return, pulling her tight against him.

Then she breaks it off and says, "Alright, she's out of earshot. I already looked under the hood, but you probably want to, too."

Dom keeps his hands on her shoulders when he says, "I'm asking again: Who the hell are you?"

She pulls out of his grip easily. "Like I said: We share some interests." She interrupts before he can say anything more. "Take a look. I'll see you outside."

She disappears before he can say _yes_ or _no_. Or _no way in hell_. Or _what the everliving fuck_.

+||+||+

 

When he's done—memorized the car and its specs, imagined in full detail what he's going to do to Fenix—he leaves through the back door.

She's leaning against the wall, wearing a leather jacket and looking like an alley in a sketchy part of L.A. is a completely reasonable place for a girl to be standing at three in the morning.

"I'm sure he's got that place bugged like Gregor Samsa," Faith says. "Let's take a walk."

"Lady, I don't know what this is, but the only place I'm walking is home to get some fucking sleep."

"You wanna kill the human stain that murdered Letty?"

"What the hell do you know about Letty?"

"I know that I'm going to wipe the ass of civilization starting with Fenix and ending with anybody else who was involved. That enough for you?"

"What was Letty to you?"

"My sister."

"Letty didn't have any sisters." Dom can hear the snarl in his voice.

"She did in every way but blood. I fucking felt it when she died, all the way in Cleveland and it was like something exploded in my head. We might die young, but not— It isn't supposed to be like that."

"I'm taking care of it," Dom says. "Anybody who had a hand in it, they won't live to see next week. But it's not a team effort."

"Buddy, you want to play lone wolf, that's fine with me." She shoves herself upright from the wall, then adds, "It might interest you to know that you're going to be leaving the country tomorrow. Mexico. And what I hear of Braga's runs, you won't be coming back."

"What do you know about Braga?"

"I know a hell of a lot about Braga. And I'm glad to tell you what I know, but on one of two conditions: You work with me, or you stay out of my way."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. Same as with anybody. I can tell you that I won't double-cross you even if you walk, but it's up to you whether to believe it or not."

They meet each other's gazes again, and he feels momentarily stripped, like all she needed to do was look at him to peel back the layers and see what's underneath. "You have her eyes," he blurts out.

"We really weren't related," Faith says, almost gently.

"It's not a family resemblance. It's…maybe deeper than that."

Unaccountably, she smiles, slight and bittersweet. "Yeah." She takes Dom's hand, her fingers strong as they interlace with his. It's not seductive, not sexy, just contact, touch. It feels good. "Most of the info's on my laptop back at the hotel, and Wills should have the rest by"—Faith checks her watch—"now, actually. So you coming or not?"

There's a pause. Dom can hear, faintly, the music from the club, the dulled rumble of traffic in the distance.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Her hand is warm in his as they walk.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Hand in the Pocket, Finger on the Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698545) by [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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